An Automobile Accident
After breakfast, the lady of the house always took care of the business of the house in the morning room. At Worthington Park, the morning room was painted pale lavender, the furnishings in the same pale purple and gilt. A walled garden lay outside its windows, with small paths and fountains and statues of slender Grecian ladies.
Julia took her seat at the desk. For years, she had been prepared for this day. She drew out the day’s menu. She telephoned the housekeeper on the house telephone and relayed changes she’d made to the menu. “I have to go out this morning,” she said, “but this afternoon we shall review the rooms, the linens and the household accounts.”
“Very good, my lady.” The housekeeper rang off.
After that, Julia set out in her motorcar. Cal was not here to go with her, but this was her place, her work, and she would not be kept from it.
Her morning spent with the various women of Brideswell and Worthington, the woman who had accounts with her, cheered her immensely. Her loans had started a tea shop in the village and a millinery, had sent a woman for medical training and saved a widow’s farm, allowing two war veterans to be employed as farmhands. Julia drove to Lower Dale Farm with treats and books for the children. Everyone congratulated her on her marriage, wished her well.
But as she was walking back to her car at Lower Dale Farm she spotted Genevra.
The elder woman wagged a finger at her. “You be careful, my lady. Now that you’re wed, you’ll be in danger.”
“From the curse? Genevra, I don’t believe in such things.”
“You’d best heed my warning,” the gypsy woman said. “Look out for yourself.” With that, she retreated into the woods and disappeared between the fluttering leaves.
Julia did drive back to Worthington very carefully. Foolish to be even a little superstitious, but she was. She left her car outside the garage and started up toward the house.
She was halfway, passing a large grove of leafy laurels, when a branch snapped behind her. She heard a sharp breath drawn from someone who was close to her. She fought panic and turned—
The Duke of Bradstock stood on the path behind her. He wore breeches and a riding jacket of black. His hat was tucked beneath his arm.
“You startled me.” But she smiled in great relief. It was no mystery man here to attack her.
“I apologize. I came down from London. Just bought a horse from your brother’s stables today. Took my new gelding for a run. I decided to ride over and see you, Julia. I was riding up from the path through the woods when I saw your car. I left my mount at the stables. I wondered if you would care to come for a ride with me this afternoon.”
She had not been riding in a long time—since she had ridden with Cal. Athena had been brought to the Worthington stables. “I would love to, James. Just allow me a moment to change.”
She did so quickly, eager to ride. Soon, hooves clopped as their horses trotted along a dirt track that wound through a meadow and led to fields. Then James sent his horse racing off. She did the same. He soared over a stone wall. She followed. After taking the jump, she leaned against her horse’s extended neck, laughing.
James reined in, brought his horse to a walk, patting the animal’s lathered withers. She joined him. His dark eyes glittered. “I guess you do not do this with your American husband.”
“Cal does ride, though he is just learning.”
“If you yearn for a good gallop, Julia, you need only make a telephone call to me. I’ll be more than happy to join you. In fact, I see it as my duty.”
“And why would it be your duty to accompany me when I’m riding?” she asked.
“It is my duty to ensure you are not denied the activities an English lady enjoys. I should be more than happy to join you on a ride, take you to London, escort you to the opera. I’ve heard your husband regularly travels to the wilds of Canada to paint. I assume he will still do it. I think it’s a crime for him to leave you alone while he lives in the bush like a savage. It would be a privilege to ensure you are never lonely, my dear.”
“James, perhaps I am misinterpreting but I thought this was to be a ride of two friends. You aren’t flirting with me, are you?”
“Of course I am.”
“But I’m married.”
“Married women have love affairs, Julia. I would be an escape from your uncouth husband.”
“I love my husband,” she protested.
“Rubbish. Your father hoped to marry you to the Earl of Worthington years ago. I can only assume your brother continued the family ambition and pushed you into the marriage.”
“He certainly did not. I made my own choice.”
“You chose a man who dresses in rags and possesses no manners?”
“He dressed that way deliberately to shock people. In truth, Cal is very gentlemanly.”
James scowled. “His ignorance of our rules will frustrate you and his cocky attitude will grow tiresome.”
“James, I would never betray my husband. The fact you believe I’m that sort of woman hurts me deeply. I am going to return to the house.” She turned Athena around.
But Bradstock had his horse canter beside her, and positioned himself to block her path.
“What about when he’s unfaithful to you? Are you going to allow him to paint nude women? He’s been notorious for love affairs. Men don’t change.”
She’d struggled not to blush at the word nude. Now she felt her blood turn to ice. “I believe people can change. I’ve seen evidence of it again and again.” Cal had changed.
“I’m not giving up, Julia. At some point you will despise that rough diamond you married. And I will be there for you.”
“Forget about me, James. Marry someone for love and devote yourself to them.”
He reached out and grasped her reins, startling her. Suddenly, his arrogant mask had dropped. She’d never seen him look so vulnerable. “I’m in love with you, Julia. I’ve been in love with you for a long time. That has never changed. I’m hoping, someday, you might finally see what you’ve overlooked all these years.”
“James—”
“I paid one of those private investigators in New York, a former policeman, to find out something of your husband’s past.”
“You didn’t—”
“I did it for your sake. Some of the things I learned about your husband would shock you. He associated with those mobsters involved in prohibition. He’s a thug, Julia.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Ask him about it. I can give you evidence if you want it. The investigator has photographs, statements. Your husband is a rich man, Julia, and he made his fortune illegally in the trade of selling bootleg liquor. Men who crossed him were beaten up. There were men who accused him of being involved with murders. He is a ruthless criminal, Julia.”
Murders? Assaulting people? How could Cal do that—after what he’d seen happen to his father? Her heart raced, but she hid the cold fear in her veins. “I will talk to Cal about this, James. For now, I think I had better return to the house. Good afternoon.” She skirted Athena around him and took off at a gallop. She arrived at the Worthington stable alone—James had not followed her. She supposed she had offended him, but she refused to worry about that.
Cal did not return for dinner.
Julia ate with David and her new cousins by marriage, but she couldn’t get James’s words out of her mind. David asked where Cal was—so she knew he hadn’t confided his plans with his brother. She retired early, her heart pounding. Was Cal really a criminal in America? Had he behaved with violence? Had James made up the awful story?
For her whole life, she’d slept alone in a bed. Now it felt strange to do it. After just one night sleeping with Cal, she found her bed empty and cold. She turned off the light, rolled on her side.
Her door opened with a soft whisper and Cal walked in. Light spilled in through the connecting door. He wasn’t changed for bed—he wore trousers, suspenders and a white undershirt that molded to the muscles in his arms and stretched over his broad chest. “Sorry I had to miss dinner, doll. Let me make it up to you.”
She sat up. “Where were you? What was it you had to do?”
She should ask: Did you really do criminal things in America? But she couldn’t.
Cal didn’t answer. Instead, he casually stripped naked. The sight stole any further words out of her mouth. He got on the bed, sitting beside her. He leaned over and kissed her.
Cal didn’t just kiss. His hands did the naughtiest things. Caressing her breasts through her nightdress and hiking up the skirt to stroke between her legs.
She should talk to him—but she wanted him too much.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he rasped. “I’m going to make love to you all night.”
And he did. She had no idea she could reach her peak so many times. Finally, she was an exhausted puddle on her bed, but he took her one last time, giving her a long, languorous wave of pleasure.
She cried out in sheer joy. Then Cal arched against her, driving his hips tight to hers. He shuddered and gasped her name. “Julia, my love. My beautiful love.”
She thought of James’s words as Cal slumped against her, but carefully so he didn’t press his weight on her. She stroked his damp back, dizzy with pleasure.
And she knew what she was doing. She was afraid to find out the truth.
He rolled off her and she stiffened, expecting him to leave her bed. But he snuggled against her, caressing her shoulder. “What did you do today, love?”
“I went to see the women who have business with me.” She wished she could relax under his touch. But she kept thinking. The illegal things—that must have been where he’d made the money to stay at Le Meurice.
Cal sat up. Moonlight outlined his wide shoulders and his strong muscled arms with silver. “Alone? Julia, it’s not safe.”
“I had no other choice.”
“Julia, this house is crawling with servants. Take some of them with you. Do that or you can’t go.”
She blinked. “Cal, this is important to me.” It was her place in the world.
“There’s something you have to know, Julia. The police sergeant telephoned for me—that’s why I missed dinner. I had to go back out, down to the station. Lowry has an alibi for the time you were attacked. He’s charged with assaulting Ellen Lambert, but he couldn’t have been the man who attacked you.”
She stared in shock, but then Cal’s strong arms went around her. His lips closed over hers and she couldn’t be afraid. Not with him kissing her. Not with him making love to her. And she went to sleep in his arms.
After breakfast, Cal left again. Julia watched him go out to his motorcar from the drawing room window. She’d promised Cal she wouldn’t leave the house alone. His words had chilled her. If Lowry hadn’t been the man who attacked her, then who was it?
How could it be possible there was a man who had once lured and killed women with dark hair back in 1916, and now, nine years later, was doing it again? She had asked Cal that very question and Cal had given her terrifying answers. That maybe the man had gone to the War, and had only just returned here. Or maybe innocent women had disappeared in other places over the years and no one knew it was the same man behind them all.
As a new bride, Julia had correspondence to attend to. But she sat, pen in hand, unable to do the duty she’d been trained for. The housekeeper had to telephone her to ask about the menu. Flustered, she made no changes and as she set down the receiver, Wiggins came in.
“There is a—a gentleman caller to see you, your ladyship.”
From the sour face on Wiggins, Julia knew the man was not what the butler considered a gentleman. “Did he give his name?”
“His name is O’Brien, my lady. He visited his lordship before. He is an American. I believe they exchanged heated words.” Wiggins sniffed. “This gentleman was also seen on the grounds two mornings ago, at the wedding reception, but he did not enter the house as a guest. However, he has insisted on speaking to you. He claims he has something to tell you that you would wish to hear about his lordship.”
She frowned. Curiosity ate at her.
“I put him in the library until I could speak to you, my lady. Not one of the finer drawing rooms, however there are still objects that may take his fancy and thus disappear.”
“Wiggins, that is most prejudiced.”
“He has the look about him of an American criminal, my lady. A ‘mobster,’ as they are termed in colloquial American. I obtained the impression his lordship is not pleased with this man.”
A mobster? Could it be the man arguing with Cal in London? She was even more curious, but pointed out, “Americans speak English.”
“Not by my definition, my lady.”
She had to smile. But she asked, “Wiggins, before you go—his lordship mentioned a photograph that he found. I believe you destroyed it. Why did you do that?” She watched Wiggins’s face carefully. Saw the flicker of fear behind the correct facade.
“I believed it would spare her ladyship—the dowager, now—a great deal of pain, my lady.” He bowed. “I must return to the wine cellar, my lady. The delivery will soon arrive.”
She watched him go. What did that mean? But if she’d been attacked by the same man, Anthony and John were innocent. There was no reason for Wiggins to protect them, then.
She wanted to speak to this man, find out why Cal had been angry with him. Cal had been mysterious—keeping quiet about where he went, about the business he had to do. Was this man involved? What was going on with Cal?
* * *
Cal slowly walked along the lane behind Lilac Farm. Above him, a bird cawed, and a breeze sent tree branches shivering.
He crept along, moving as stealthily as he would have when he’d had to land his plane behind German lines. War had taught him a lot of things about killing and survival—he never expected to use any of that knowledge in the rarified world of the aristocracy.
But he had to use every skill he had to keep Julia safe. Julia had been attacked here. This was where Genevra had seen a man and a dark-haired woman in a car.
If he hadn’t been here that morning, that bastard would have pulled Julia into a waiting car—
Christ, he couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about what would have happened if he’d been too late.
He scanned the ground for some kind of clue. Desperate and crazy, likely enough, but he knew a lot of the criminal element wasn’t all that smart in covering tracks.
But he kept thinking of Julia. Couldn’t stop his thoughts from going to their wedding night. Which got him hot under the collar. He’d had to leave her the day after their wedding. Gone to see O’Brien and warned the gangster not to reveal the truth of his past to Julia. Warned Kerry that he’d get hurt if he did it. But he saw the smirking appraisal in O’Brien’s eyes and knew the bastard wouldn’t give up so easily. He must figure he had a plum mark in Cal now. He had to know Cal was desperate to keep his wife in the dark about his past. That was the “private business” he’d had to take care of.
He’d intended to keep Julia happy in bed. Never dreamed it would feel like...like he’d gotten a chance to have real heavenly bliss. Making love to Julia had seared him to his soul. It wasn’t just sex, it was like a special painting that was more than just a canvas—it was a revelation.
Ahead, Cal spotted the pattern of automobile tires in the dried mud. On the edge, branches were broken down. He walked up to the spot. Someone had parked a car there, hiding it from sight. Why?
Had it been to spy on Julia? Sunlight reflected off something that glinted. Stooping, he picked it up. A button of onyx rimmed in silver. Not likely from the clothing of the laborer who’d grabbed Julia. Nor had a man like that likely had a car.
So who had been there?
* * *
Julia hurried to the library, her skirts swishing around her calves, her heels clicking. Cigar smoke floated from the open door. From the doorway, all she could see was the back of the man’s head. He lounged on the settee, his arm stretched along the back of it. The electric light gleamed on his hair, slicked down and neatly parted in the middle.
Julia walked in, saying briskly, “Good morning, Mr. O’Brien. I am Julia, Lady Worthington.”
The man clamped the cigar between his teeth and held out his hand to her. She recognized him—he was indeed the man Cal had been speaking to in the Black Bottom Club in London.
He shook her hand firmly, startling her. He definitely did have the look of an American mobster. The newssheets carried pictures of famed American criminals such as Al Capone and Charles Luciano. This man was dressed in the same manner—a pinstripe suit, with matching waistcoat, a white hat on the seat beside him.
“Hello, Julia.” He grinned, a smug, arrogant grin.
“I would prefer Lady Worthington,” she said. That smile had put her back up. “Would you care for tea?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Julia.”
She could reprimand him over the use of her name again, but she didn’t. He exuded edgy nervousness. His gaze flicked all around the library, and he kept grinning until tea came. Then he pulled out a flask and took a long swallow before taking his cup of tea. She noticed the scar running from his ear to his throat. A war wound, perhaps?
“I have to say, Julia, sitting down to tea with you is a lot more pleasant than looking at Cal’s mug.”
“You are a friend of my husband’s, from America?”
“Cal and I go way back.” He leaned back. “Grew up together. There ain’t nothing I don’t know about Cal. I hear he didn’t tell you much about his past. There are a lot of stories I could tell you...but Cal wouldn’t like that. He wouldn’t want me talking about that stuff with his pretty new bride.”
She thought of James’s words, but she said politely, “I am sure Cal has just not had time to tell me many stories about his youth.”
“I don’t think he’d like to talk about that to a nice girl like you.”
“Mr. O’Brien, I feel you have something you want to say to me.”
“I could be willing to give away some of Cal’s secrets. For the right price. Wouldn’t you want to know all about Cal’s dirty past?”
He smirked. A look that made her shiver in apprehension. She was so curious, but she wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of letting him talk. “I am afraid you have made a wasted trip. Cal has been nothing but honest with me.” She stood.
“Wouldn’t you wanna hear about what he did as a bootlegger? Wouldn’t you wanna hear about the Five Points Gang?”
“Mr. O’Brien, I suggest you leave. I shall summon my butler, Wiggins, to escort you to the door. This house can be quite confusing, when one is in a hurry to depart.”
She hadn’t even reached the bell when two of the Worthington footmen walked in. “Mr. Wiggins sent us to help the gentleman out.”
Mr. O’Brien’s expression was livid. “There’s other people who’d be interested in knowing the real truth about the Earl of Worthington. You tell Cal I said that, Julia. How about that? And tell him I’m staying at the Boar and Castle hotel in the little hick village.”
“The public house,” she corrected automatically.
He stood, straightened his tie and plopped his hat on his head. “I’ll follow the penguins outside. But you give my message to Cal.”
She watched him exit the room. After he left, Julia sank to the chair, shaking. What James had told her—it must be true. It explained why Cal had money. It explained...why he was ashamed of that money.
But Cal had needed money to take care of David. Cal would have been desperate to protect his brother, desperate because of what the earl and countess had done.
She was still in the library, staring out the window, when footsteps stormed into the room. “I’ve torn a strip off Wiggins. He should have thrown O’Brien out. He should never have let you speak to him—”
“Why not?” She turned around to confront a white-faced, angry Cal. Then she saw dirt was streaked over his face and his hands were covered in mud. She wanted to tackle Cal about his past, but horror filled his eyes. “What have you been doing?”
“Doing my lordly duty and traveling around my estate, greeting my tenants.”
She didn’t believe him. It was the way he kept his blue-eyed gaze right on her as he said it. “You look exhausted,” she said crisply. “I shall ring for tea.”
“Julia, what did O’Brien say to you?”
“Very little, since I was not willing to pay him.”
“Did he frighten you? Threaten you?”
“Do your friends always behave like that?”
“He’s not a friend, Julia. And I need you to tell me the truth.”
“He told me he would be willing to give away some of your secrets for the right price. He asked if I would like to know about what he termed your dirty past. Cal, were you a bootlegger? Did you commit...crimes to make money...to support David?”
“O’Brien was trying to con money out of you. I was never arrested for doing anything illegal. He probably figured you’d be shocked to know I was poor. But you know all about that.”
She did. They were married and the future was what mattered now. Impetuously, she said, “Cal, whatever was in the past is behind us. We have both had sorrow in the past and I believe we must focus on the future. We’ll have tea, then I must go out. I want to bring food for the Tofts.”
“Forget tea, Julia. There’s something I need to do. Upstairs.”
Mystified, she followed Cal up the sweeping stairs to their connecting bedrooms. He closed his bedroom door behind them and turned the key.
“Cal—” She broke off as he lifted her off her feet and into his arms.
“Wrap your legs around my waist, doll.”
“Around your waist?”
He set her back on her feet, skimmed her skirt up to bare her legs. She squealed—then prayed it wasn’t loud enough to startle the upstairs maids. He lifted her up, put his hand under her round bottom to carry her.
She gasped as her husband balanced her on the marble surface of the vanity table on her bottom. Sensually he kissed her neck, his tongue running along her sensitive skin.
She clung to his shoulders. “Cal, it isn’t nighttime.”
He laughed, low and gruff. Deeply, he made love to her, rocking her with him as pleasure built. Her nails dug into his broad, strong shoulders. Heavens, she could see them in her mirror, doing this intimate thing.
“I’d like to paint you like this. The way you look when I’m making love to you. You’re the most beautiful creation on earth, Julia.”
She gasped at the glorious peak. She cried his name, which ended on a moan. Then he cried out her name.
He held her in his powerful arms and she pressed her cheek over his heart. She loved hearing the fast beat, knowing she’d done that to him.
“I’d like to keep you in bed day and night.”
She flushed. “Cal, I have things I must do.” Then she regretted the prim words.
“I’ll go with you.” He nibbled her ear as he said it, and she almost melted. “Cal, I have pies for their dinner. I simply can’t wait or I’ll be too late.”
He smoothed down her skirt, held out his hand.
Cal’s automobile was still sitting in Worthington’s front drive. He walked around to the right-hand side of the car without thinking. Then growled, “Forgot again.”
“Could I drive?” she asked, as she went to the driver’s door. “I’ve never driven your motor.”
He winked at her, and she blushed. But he tossed her the keys. “Sure,” he said.
It was almost as delightful a vehicle as her Trixie. The engine purred and the car clung to every turn, rumbling with the promise of decadent power—if she dared. But on the winding road, she just didn’t dare.
They’d crested a hill and were heading down toward the road that led to Lilac Farm. From there, she would turn off to Lower Dale Farm. Like the other roads, this was narrow, winding around rocks, trees, following stone walls that bordered fields.
She pressed the brake pedal but nothing seemed to happen. The car was going fast—too fast.
Cal’s hand braced against the mother-of-pearl inlay on the dashboard. “Julia, doll, you have to slow down on this road. You don’t have to prove to me you’re a fast driver.”
She pushed desperately down on the brake pedal. But it simply sank to the floor, with all the resistance of a dry sponge. She released her foot and tried again, pushing it down. Nothing happened. “Cal, I’m not trying to prove anything. The brakes don’t work!”
Zoe had taught her how to drive, but she didn’t really know how one of these automobiles worked, and right now, she rather wished she did. “I will try again. Harder. So this motorcar knows I mean business.”
“Try it, doll. Push down hard.”
She did, but the brake simply refused to work.
A stone wall was coming up—one that bordered a farm. The rutted road made a sharp turn in front of it. What if she couldn’t make the turn? They’d crash. Cal, in the passenger seat, would be plowed into the stone wall. The motorcar was filled with fuel. Could it explode?
She had to make this corner.
Julia held her breath and stiffened like a board. She thought she’d known fear before. It was nothing like this. She couldn’t even feel her heartbeat—which might mean it had stopped.
Cal reached over her and planted his hand on the wheel. “Hang on to it. I’ll help you steer.”
Even from the passenger side, he was steering with aplomb.
But they were hurtling toward the wall at the bottom of this hill.
“Stay calm, Julia. We can stop this car. I want you to downshift to a lower gear. But do it slowly. I’m going to steer to the side here and use the rougher grass to slow us down.”
He moved the wheel firmly and the car rattled toward the edge of the track. She felt the jerk as the wheels left the firm track of the lane.
“Now gear down.”
“What will that do?”
“It slows the engine. We’re going to put on the handbrake.”
But with the hill they just seemed to go faster. Cal said a very rude word. She didn’t blame him. She was thinking it herself.
“We’re going to have to do a controlled crash.”
“Controlled and crash are two words that can’t possibly belong together.”
He grinned—a wild, confident grin in the face of danger. “See that bunch of bushes over there? I’m going to steer us into them. I want you to duck down. Cover your face.”
“Those are laurels. You can’t mean you deliberately intend to—”
Cal put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. She had one last view of leafy branches coming at the windscreen at high speed. Snapping sounds came from all around her. Something scratched her cheek and she made sure her hands covered as much of her face as possible. The car lurched and there came more sickening breaking and grinding sounds.
The car stopped. The sound of the engine ceased.
Julia parted her gloved fingers and looked between them. Leaves seemed to fill the car. Cal was no longer forcing her down so she straightened. He grabbed broken branches and threw them away. The car and a scrawny laurel brush seemed to have merged in some kind of unholy alliance.
“Are you okay, Julia?”
“Yes. Much better than your motorcar.” The glossy front end was crumpled inward. The car had mown over the shrubs with smaller trunks, leaving a trail of destruction.
Cal was fighting with a branch that jutted into the car on the passenger side and prevented him from opening the door.
“Goodness, this is my very first motorcar crash.”
Cal broke the branch with a loud crack and threw it out of the car. “I’d like to think it’s going to be your only car crash.”
She looked back toward the road. If he hadn’t forced them to crash, they would have gone hurtling down the treacherous hill with the right-angle turn at the end and the stone wall at the bottom. If he hadn’t forced a crash, they would have been...killed.
“Well, thanks to you, I survived it. I think you deserve a reward.”
* * *
To Cal’s surprise, Julia flung her arms around his neck. Her mouth met his in a searing kiss and knocked him back against his seat. At once, he felt the rush of blood to his groin, hardening and thickening him.
They could have been killed. Julia should have been terrified and fainting. But she was talking with toughness. And all he wanted to do was open his trousers and pull her on top of him and take advantage of all this hot passion she was giving him.
So he did that.
With laurel branches tangled in the car, he held Julia on his lap. And he pushed her short skirt out of the way. With his fingers, he teased her, gazing deep into her eyes. He could have lost her. The thought speared him.
She moaned. “Oh yes.”
He pulled open his trousers and she wrapped her hand around his shaft, making him groan in sensual agony. To his shock, Julia took him inside and began moving on him. He grasped her hips and met her thrust for thrust. He was driving to take her to her peak when he heard a loud bleating. A voice called, “Hello there? Are you all right?”
“We’re okay,” Cal called casually, as if he wasn’t making love to his wife in a crashed car.
A flock of sheep wandered up to inspect the car. Then Cal saw a gnarled man with a walking stick making his way toward them. The farmer, Brand. He quickly lifted Julia off him and set her back beside him. He heard her giggle behind her palm.
“I can bring me plow horses and pull the car back to the big house for ye, if it will roll,” Brand said as he approached.
“I’d appreciate it, Brand,” Cal said, fighting to discreetly fasten his trousers. “The brakes failed and we had to crash.”
“Newfangled things.” Brand shook his head and went to get the horses.
“What happened to the brakes?” Julia asked. “When I put my foot on the pedal, it sank to the floor without doing a thing.”
“There was no hydraulic pressure in the line.”
“What does that mean?”
He explained quickly how brakes worked. “There’s got to be a break in the line.” He would be able to figure out what happened if he could get under the car and check the line. But there were too many broken branches snagged beneath the car, and the rutted ground was too high for him to crawl underneath.
Then he saw Julia was shaking. Cal swung out of the vehicle, lifted her out and led her to the farmhouse. Mrs. Brand was upstairs, asleep. Cal made tea.
After a few sips, Brand said, “You’d best be careful. We don’t want any harm to fall upon her ladyship, my lord. She’s most beloved around here.”
“I know she is. And I won’t let anything hurt her.”
“There’s the curse, you know.”
“There’s no such thing as curses,” Cal muttered.
“The curse came true for the dowager countess. Old Lady Worthington has known nothing but pain. Her eldest lad was killed at the Somme and the youngest died in a motorcar accident.”
Cal’s mam was Irish and believed in pixies, fairies and evil sprites. But he had grown up in a world where he’d fought to get out—and he’d won. Airplanes and motorcars were possible, and they were based on the principles of physics, on chemical reactions and combustion and gears.
“I don’t believe it, Brand. No one can utter a few words and cause accidents to happen, or create illness, or cause people to die. A man can cause harm to other men—but he’s got to use something physical to do it. Like a machine gun or an artillery shell.”
But when he got the car back to Worthington, after giving Brand some money for his trouble and sending the chauffeur to deliver the pies for the Tofts—which had survived the accident—he took a look under the automobile to see what had gone wrong with the brakes. What he saw gave him the shock of his life.
* * *
Cal went to Julia’s bedroom. He didn’t knock. Julia was his wife, and he didn’t see that a husband and wife should be asking permission to see each other. But when he opened the door, Ellen Lambert stood there, arms crossed over her chest.
“Her ladyship is not well tonight.”
“What’s wrong?” Fear gripped him.
“Your automobile crashed into a tree. My poor lady was shaking. She certainly does not need...attentions from a husband tonight.”
“I crashed the car to save her life. Is she all right? Does she need a doctor?”
“She needs her rest.”
He was going to push past, but then Ellen added, “Her ladyship has not looked well since the day after the wedding, when you went away.”
Guilt hit him. He couldn’t admit he’d gone to tell O’Brien to get the hell away from his family. And his anger had only made O’Brien realize he was afraid of Julia learning the truth.
Retreating to his room, Cal undid his robe. He was naked underneath, hadn’t bothered to put on pajamas. It almost physically hurt not to be with Julia.
He was stepping into trousers when his door opened.
Julia stood there. “Ellen told me she sent you away. But I wanted you to come to me tonight.” She shut the door. “Then I realized I could come to you.”
“Then I should be a good host. Do you want a drink?” Cal pulled out a flask. He was tired of brandy and cognac, snooty drinks consumed by pompous men. He needed a stiff drink right now.
“What is it?”
“A drink I would have drunk at home.”
“Moonshine?”
He laughed. “I’ve never had moonshine. Some of it could make you blind. So could bathtub gin, but I admit I’ve drank that. But this I bought in London. Good Irish whiskey.”
“I’ve never had whiskey. Women don’t.”
He poured a finger of the liquor in a tumbler. Handed it to her where she sat on the edge of the bed. “But you aren’t controlled by rules and tradition, Julia.” He held his glass in the air as if toasting her, and took a drink.
She took a swallow. Pulled the glass from her lips. Coughed. “It’s like fire in a glass—if fire tasted bitter and awful.”
He grinned, though he was troubled. “That is fine ten-year-old whiskey.”
“Then I think it has gone bad. Unlike wine, aging didn’t seem to help.”
He swung away from the bedpost and sat down beside her. She looked a bit shocked, then, to his delight, she pressed against him.
“I know you looked at the motorcar. What had gone wrong?” she asked. “It wasn’t the chauffeur’s fault, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t his fault.”
“What is it?” He didn’t answer and she pressed, “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
“The brake line had been cut. Deliberately.” Had he been too blunt?
“I don’t know a lot about automobiles,” she said, looking direct and determined. “But if someone cut the brake, doesn’t that mean that person meant us to have a car accident?”
God, he admired her. She had incredible strength. “Yeah, I think so.”
“That means someone wishes us ill.”
“It was my car. It looks like it was intended for me. There have to be a lot of people who’d like me dead,” he said. O’Brien, possibly. The dowager countess—maybe her apology had been false.
“Why do you think that?” she protested. “All the tenants believe they have no better champion.”
The idea of someone wanting him dead didn’t surprise him. He’d run the risk of getting killed in a gang. At war, he’d escaped death more times than he could remember. In the prohibition world, he’d almost been snuffed several times. Death had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember.
What made him angry this time was that Julia had been in danger.
“What about Lowry?” she asked. “He might have friends getting revenge for him.”
Cal nodded. She was a smart woman. “Maybe the dowager countess did it.”
Her mouth turned down. “I thought you two were growing to accept each other. And can you really imagine the dowager countess getting on the ground beneath your vehicle to cut a brake line?” Suddenly she giggled. But then she quickly sobered. “What of the man who attacked me?” she asked. “Could it be him—whoever he is?”
“It could be. I’m going to find out who was responsible—and make them pay.”
He saw her shiver. “I overheard the maids talking about the curse on the Worthington Wife.” She lifted her chin. “A brake line isn’t a curse. It’s a deliberate act of malice.”
“That’s true.” He took the glass out of her hand, put them both on the bedside table. “Don’t think about this anymore. You don’t have to worry about anything with me around.
“Tomorrow, I want you to pack, Julia. I want to take you to Italy, to Nice, to wherever you want to go. We’ll get away from here.” He fell back on his bed, pulling her with him. “Now let me make you forget about all this with a sweet roll in the hay.”
And he was pretty sure he did.